A part of him wasn’t certain why he cared. Tanner meant nothing to him. But if Sephira wanted him dead, Ethan would do all he could to keep him alive.
At first, even after the gash had healed itself, Tanner didn’t move. But leaning close to the man’s face, Ethan felt a slight stirring of breath. He grabbed Tanner’s wrist and felt for a pulse. Also faint, but unmistakable. Ethan sat back on his heels, and took a long breath. After what seemed like years, Tanner’s eyes fluttered open.
Ethan cut himself once more and drew forth a bright light that hovered over them like a tiny sun.
“You’re a … a conjurer!” Tanner said, trying to scramble away from him, although he was too weak to go far.
“Aye, I’m a conjurer. I just saved your life with a spell.”
The man’s hand strayed to his throat, his fingers probing the raw scar left by Nigel’s blade. “Why?” he asked.
Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t make me regret it.”
With some effort, Tanner sat up. His arms trembled and his skin looked pasty. “Is she gone?”
“Aye,” Ethan said. “But you need to leave Boston. If she sees you, she’ll try to kill you again, and I might not be around to heal you.”
“But—”
“Short—that’s the man who owned those watches you stole—he wants you transported as far from these shores as possible. Failing that, he wants you dead. He made that clear when he hired me, and I’d wager every shilling I have that he told Sephira the same thing.”
“So … so you were goin’ to turn me over to the sheriff?”
Ethan made no answer. He didn’t always turn in those he was hired to pursue, and he never killed any man unless left with no choice. He had lost too many years of his life to prison and forced labor to send men away for commission of petty crimes. And he had seen too many lives wasted in battles and in the harsh conditions he had endured in his plantation prison to kill for little cause. But he always insisted, under the threat of a painful spell-induced death, that those he captured leave Boston, never to return. The last thing he needed was for word to get around the city that he didn’t punish the men he was hired to pursue. He would never be hired as a thieftaker again. He saw no reason to trust Tanner with this information.
“Aye, probably,” he finally said. “And Sheriff Greenleaf would have dealt with you harshly. But Sephira took the watches and left me to heal you, so I suppose this is your lucky day.”
Tanner’s dark eyes narrowed. “Well, then—”
“Don’t even think it,” Ethan said. “Just leave Boston on the next ship that sails. If you don’t, she’ll kill you. And if she doesn’t, I will.”
Ethan climbed to his feet, let the light fade out, and started to limp back along the wharf to the city street. He needed an ale, and it seemed he also needed to have a conversation with Diver.
“I suppose I ought to thank you for savin’ me,” Tanner called after him.
“Don’t bother,” Ethan said over his shoulder. “I didn’t do it for you.”
Chapter
TWO
Ethan followed Ship Street to Fish Street and continued along the edge of the North End, skirting the finer neighborhoods. He walked by warehouses and darkened storefronts, past Paul Revere’s Silver Shop and the Hancock Wharf. The moon cast his shadow, long and haloed, across locked doors and clapboard façades. The air was cool and dry, laden with the smells of brine and fish, burning wood and ships’ tar. After crossing over Mill Creek, he followed Ann Street as it turned away from the harbor and met Union.
Two men of the night watch stood at the far corner, speaking in low voices, one of them chuckling at some jest Ethan didn’t hear. There was no established constabulary in Boston, and for now at least, there were no British regulars patrolling the streets. Men of the watch were expected to guard the citizens of Boston and their property from lawbreakers. And when they failed, which they did with some frequency, one of Boston’s thieftakers—in most cases, Sephira Pryce or Ethan—was hired to recover the stolen items. The sheriff of Suffolk County, Stephen Greenleaf, bore some responsibility for keeping the peace as well, though he was but one man, with no soldiers or guards under his immediate authority.
The long and short of it was that even with several hundred British soldiers aboard ships in the waters off the city’s shores, Boston remained a lawless city. Some of the men who served the watch were honest and competent; others were not. A few worked for Sephira Pryce, and took advantage of their time on the watch by robbing empty homes, so that Sephira could return the stolen items to their rightful owners, for a substantial fee, of course.
He didn’t recognize either of these watchmen. This didn’t mean necessarily that they worked for Sephira, but he would have felt better had he known at least one of the two. He kept his head down and his hands in his pockets as he walked past them.
“It’s late to be abroad in the streets.”
Ethan halted and turned. Both watchmen had stepped forward, their expressions hard. They were young men, one tall and spear-thin, the other shorter and brawnier. Ethan guessed that they both were armed, although they had yet to pull out either pistols or knives.
“Yes, it is,” Ethan said. “I’m just on my way to the Dowsing Rod for an ale or two.” His voice remained steady, and he met the taller man’s gaze, unwilling to let them believe that he feared them.
“I’m less interested in where you’re going than in where you’ve been.”
“I’m a thieftaker,” Ethan told him. “I was down at the wharves looking for a man who robbed a client.”
The tall one continued to regard him like something a dog might drag in off the street, but Ethan could see from the easing of his stance, the slight droop of his shoulders, that this answer had satisfied him. “Find him?”
Ethan shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Well, better huntin’ next time.” The man was already turning away as he said this. The second man continued to watch Ethan, but he made no effort to stop him.
Ethan raised a hand in farewell and continued on toward the tavern, glad to get away with nothing more than a few questions. He cut through Wings Lane, a dark, narrow byway that connected Union and Hanover Streets and turned south toward Sudbury.
Before he reached the next corner, a gray and white dog bounded at him from the shadows between two shops. She ran a tight circle around him, her tongue hanging out, her tail waving wildly.
“Well met, Shelly,” Ethan said, stopping to scratch the dog behind her ears.
She licked his hand and fell in stride beside him as he continued toward the Dowser.
Even here, closer to the center of the city, the streets were mostly deserted. On most nights as clear as this one, even this late, there would have been at least a few people walking the lanes, a chaise or two rattling past. But the arrival of the king’s warships in Boston Harbor seemed to have brought a deeper chill to this autumn night.
Reaching the Dowsing Rod, Ethan gave Shelly one last scratching and a pat on the head. “Good night, Shelly,” he said, and stepped inside.
The great room of the tavern shone with candles. The warm air was tinged with the pungent bitterness of spermaceti candles, the sweet scent of pipe smoke, the musty smell of ale, and the savory aroma of yet another of Kannice Lester’s excellent fish chowders.
Kannice, the Dowser’s owner, made the best food found in any of Boston’s publick houses and she served good ales at a reasonable price. When Ethan first met her over six years before, she had already inherited the tavern from her husband, who died of smallpox during the outbreak of 1761. A young widow, whose beauty and sharp humor complemented a keen wit and savvy business sense, she had transformed the tavern from a dreary, broken-down haunt for rogues and miscreants into a reputable and profitable establishment. Her rules were simple: No whoring, gambling, or fighting. If you couldn’t discuss politics or religion without getting into an argument, you were to take your differences out into th
e street. And if anything you said or did attracted the notice of the watch or the sheriff, chances were she didn’t want you in her tavern.
She relied on her hulking barman, Kelf Fingarin, to keep order and to see to it that no one disobeyed. But Kelf rarely had to do more than serve ale and stew and, on occasion, toss a drunk out into the lane. Kannice was willowy and nearly a foot shorter than Kelf, but most of the time one of her tongue-lashings was enough to tame even the hardest man who set foot in her place.
Ethan stood just inside the door, scanning the tavern for her, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Hiya Ethan,” came a booming voice from behind the bar. Kelf raised a meaty hand in greeting. “You lookin’ for Kannice?” he asked, his words coming out in one long quick jumble, as they always did.
“Hi, Kelf,” Ethan said, grinning at the huge man and walking to the bar. “She in back?”
Kelf nodded. “Made the chowder tonight. Everyone’s favorite. She can barely keep up. I can tell her you’re here, though.”
“No need. She’ll see me soon enough.” Ethan dug into his pocket and placed a shilling on the bar. “The Kent pale,” he said. “And some chowder when it’s ready.”
“Right. Diver’s in his usual spot.” He nodded toward the back of the tavern. “If’n you’re lookin’ for him.”
“My thanks.”
The barman handed him a tankard of ale, and Ethan made his way back to Diver’s table. The Dowser was crowded and loud this night. Some stood at the bar, eating oysters and drinking ales, while others sat at the tables drinking flips or Madeira wine and supping on Kannice’s chowder. But whether at tables or at the bar, few of them greeted Ethan with even so much as a nod. He had been a prisoner, a convicted mutineer; he was known to most as a thieftaker and a rival to Sephira Pryce. A handful of those in the tavern might have known that he was also a conjurer. He had few admirers and fewer friends. Then again, those friends he did have, he trusted.
Diver sat alone, hunched over his ale. But seeing Ethan approach, he sat up, an eager look on his face.
“Well?” he said, as Ethan took a seat across from him.
“Well, what?”
Diver glanced around to make sure that no one would overhear. “Come on, Ethan,” he said, lowering his voice. “You know. What happened with Tanner and the watches?”
“Sephira happened,” Ethan said, trying hard to keep his tone free of accusation.
Diver’s face fell. “What’s she got to do with it?”
“She told me to ask you.”
“What?” His surprise appeared genuine, and Diver wasn’t that good a liar. Whatever he had done to tip off Sephira had been unintentional.
“Who have you told about this job?” Ethan asked.
“No one! I swear it!” His eyes were wide, even fearful. He knew better than to think that Ethan would try to exact a measure of revenge. But they had been friends for a long time; Diver looked up to Ethan the way he might to an older brother. The last thing he would have wanted was to fail him on a job, in particular if it meant losing money to Sephira Pryce.
“A girl, maybe?” Ethan asked.
“No.” But Ethan could see the doubt in his friend’s dark eyes. With Diver, there was always a girl—a different one from fortnight to fortnight, but he was rarely alone. He was tall and handsome, with curly black hair and a smile that could have charmed the queen consort herself.
“What’s her name, Diver?”
“She wouldn’t have told Sephira,” he said, more to himself than to Ethan. “I know she wouldn’t.”
“Diver?” Ethan said, drawing the young man’s gaze once more. “Her name?”
His friend sighed. “Katharine,” he said. “Katharine Chambers. I met her outside Faneuil Hall maybe a month ago. She wouldn’t be working for Sephira. She’s…” He shook his head, perhaps knowing better than to complete the thought aloud.
Ethan had never heard of the girl, but that didn’t mean much. “Have you told anyone else about Tanner?” he asked.
Diver shook his head, his expression bleak. “No, no one.” He looked Ethan in the eye. “You have my word.”
Ethan nodded and took a long pull of ale. “Well,” he said wiping his mouth with his hand, “there’s nothing to be done about it now. I’d suggest you stay away from her, though.”
“So, we don’t get anything?” Diver asked.
“This is Sephira we’re talking about. It’s not like her to share with the other children.”
The young man closed his eyes and rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “I needed that money.”
Ethan didn’t bother asking why. More often than not, when Diver said it that way he meant, I’ve already spent that money.
They sat in silence for some time. Ethan surveyed the tavern while Diver stared morosely into his empty tankard. Eventually Kannice came out of the kitchen, beckoned to Kelf, and vanished again. Soon after, the two of them emerged again bearing a huge tureen of creamy white stew. The tavern patrons roared their approval, and Kelf began to ladle the chowder into wooden bowls.
Kannice had spotted Ethan and she approached him now, her auburn hair shining in the lamplight, a few stray strands falling over her forehead. Reaching their table, she bent to kiss him lightly on the lips, her hair smelling of lavender, her breath tasting slightly of Irish whiskey.
She bobbed her head toward Diver. “He’s been like an eager puppy all night, waiting for you to come in. I’d have thought he’d be happier now that you’re finally here.”
Ethan shrugged, and flashed a rueful grin. “Yes, well, things didn’t go quite as we had hoped.”
Diver glanced up at Kannice before looking away again. Kannice tolerated Diver because he was Ethan’s friend, but she thought him a reckless fool who brought trouble on himself and on those around him. Ethan found it hard to defend Diver, because Kannice often was right. This night’s misadventure was more typical than either Ethan or Diver would care to admit.
Kannice regarded Diver through narrowed eyes and started to say something, but Ethan took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She clamped her mouth shut, and shook her head.
“I take it you’re paying for his supper, then,” she said, looking at Ethan again.
“I gave Kelf enough to cover both his and mine.”
She chuckled, shaking her head a second time. “Fine. I’ll leave you boys to work this out yourselves.” She kissed the top of Ethan’s head. “And I’ll deal with you later.”
This was Kannice’s way of telling Ethan that she wanted him to stay the night with her. They had been lovers for the better part of five years, and though they didn’t live together, and though Ethan had made it clear to Kannice that he wasn’t the marrying kind, he would have faced down the king’s army to keep her safe. Once, there had been another woman in his life: Elli—Marielle—to whom Ethan had been betrothed before his imprisonment. For many years, while serving his sentence on the sugar plantation, and even after his return to Boston, he had mourned the loss of his first love. But more recently that wound had healed. He and Elli remained on civil terms, but Ethan didn’t long for her anymore. Today, Ethan was as devoted to Kannice as he had ever been to Elli.
Kannice walked back to where Kelf was ladling out the stew and said something that made the rest of her patrons laugh uproariously. She might have been unyielding when it came to her rules, but she could outdrink a Scottish sea captain and she told jokes that would make an old sailor blush.
“You’re going to tell her what I did, aren’t you?” Diver said, once she was out of earshot.
Ethan took a quick sip of ale to hide his amusement. “I’ll tell her what happened. She’ll work out the rest.”
“Probably,” Diver muttered. “I really am sorry.”
“It cost you nearly as much as it did me.”
“Aye, but I know how much you hate being bested by Sephira.”
Ethan looked away. Kelf was headed in their direction carrying two bowl
s of steaming stew.
“There y’are,” the big man said, placing the bowls in front of them. “Another ale, Diver?”
Diver glanced at Ethan.
“We’ll both take another,” Ethan said before draining his tankard and handing it to Kelf.
Once the barkeep had walked away, Diver turned to Ethan again, a sheepish look on his face. “Ethan—”
“Leave it, Diver. Sephira’s men didn’t beat me. Sephira didn’t threaten you or Kannice or Elli and her kids. All she did was take a bit of coin that I’d claimed for myself. It’s not worth worrying about.”
If anything, the younger man’s shoulders drooped even more after hearing this, but he muttered something in agreement.
Kelf returned with their ales, and for some time neither man spoke. Ethan watched Kannice as she made her way around the main room of the tavern, chatting with her patrons, laughing at their jokes, chastising them when they spilled their drinks. Now and again her eyes found Ethan’s and she smiled, but for the most part she left him and Diver to themselves.
“I liked working with you,” Diver said at length, pushing his empty bowl to the center of the table. “I liked being a thieftaker, even if it was just for a little while.”
Ethan eyed him. “Did you?”
“Aye,” his friend said. “Was I any good at it?”
“You figured out that Tanner was our thief. That took some doing.”
Diver beamed. “Does that mean I can help you with another job?”
“I don’t know. Can you manage to take a girl to your bed without telling her my business?”
“Of course I can,” Diver said, his color rising.
Ethan sat forward. “Are you sure? I’m asking you seriously. There are times when I’ll want your help, but after this…” He shook his head. “If I’m going to rely on you, I have to know I can trust you.”
The younger man held his gaze though Ethan could tell that the words stung. “You can.”
Ethan regarded him for another moment. “If you tell me it’s so, I believe you. Next time I need help, you’ll be the man I turn to.”
Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles) Page 2
